Skyline
by backwardsky
Summary: When you're ripped from the places you love, and dropped to the places you've tried to forget, you only want to survive. And that's all I want to do these days, survive.
1. Skyport

It's hard to know when you want to be you anymore. Starring out the window of the dark car, at the dark sky, with dark eyes, you continue to drive. The silence is oppressive to a certain extent; it's broken only by the music that manages to push through the static of the radio.

"Mama, we all go to hell."

You don't listen though - you don't smile. You just continue to drive. I shift in my seat, eager to make a mildly human noise - and yawn. There's no response from you, and I struggle not to let the edges of my face drop into a frown.

"Mama we all go to hell…"

You frown, and some part of me rejoices in seeing any form of expression on your face; though another part of me dies, as you turn off the radio. I understand why you can't stand it, it hits too close to home. I face the landscape, and my reflection in the window, struggling to keep the tears in. The land here is much different than what I am used to. Growing up in New-England, you get used to the lush green everywhere, the rain and the snow, the constant moisture. The land here is nothing like that. It's barren, and desolate, dry, hot, and lonely, even in the cover of night.

The pattern of your breathing changes, and I turn. I can see you choking on the words, and feel my heart about to thump its way out of my chest. I don't want to listen - but I have to. I'd drink your words in even if they were laced with poison, and you know that. Your face twists - you're choosing your words carefully, and I smile some at that, because reading you is so easy now.

"Elizabeth…"

"Lis."

I correct you, my smile fading. You've known me long enough to know that nobody refers to my by my full name. I wait for you to say more - but I seem to have tied your tongue. You weren't planning on an interruption, and it threw you off course. That was the problem with you, really. You never planned for the unexpected, and never expected much to begin with. I put that thought away quickly, though. Because I didn't want to think about how you hadn't expected much out of me either - or how I was afraid that you was right not to.

The lights of the city come into view, and we're slowly swallowed by them. I can feel us drawing closer to our destination as the tension in the car rises, your discomfort becoming palpable. We pull up at the Phoenix Skyport airport, and you don't try to start again - don't look at me, as you hand me the plane tickets. I take them robotically - understanding now what you mean.

At some point, the door slams, and you drive off, leaving me drowning in a sea of people. But I understand, as I make my way numbly to the ticket desk. I have no possessions. I have no identity. I need to start over again, and you need to forget about me. You're not only leaving phoenix behind - you're leaving me behind, too. I stare at the works on my tickets blankly,

Forks.

The sigh I've been trying to suppress comes out, and the weight of truth makes it harder to breathe. You're sending me back to New-England. Back to the place I existed before I met you - before I knew anything, Before I came into myself. You're trying to erase any trace of me, and what I've become. Slumping in my seat on the plane, I don't try to comprehend anything. I'm tired - and I need to sleep. And that is what I am going to do. I can dwell on my confusion later. For now, though. I relish the silence of the early-morning flight, and the darkness behind my eyelids. 


	2. Forks

(A/N) this may be a little confusing, because I haven't revealed the names of anybody but Lis, yet. But, the first part of this chapter before the break is in another point of view. After the break it is Lis' Point of view. 'Kay?

You need to know that the hardest part of this whole thing was leaving you. You were something different. Special, fascinating. I almost regret what happened, but almost is the key word there, because we both know what happened, and I don't want - can't, really - talk about it.

I watch the lights of your plane leaving the air-port, trying to pretend that I don't care. I know it's subtle, but I do - I can feel myself slipping. My cigarette hangs idle in my hand, and I know that I'll probably drop it soon, I don't care though, I'm not going to light another one. In fact - I throw the whole pack on the ground in a childish fit of emotion. I know that I'll curse myself for that later. Telling myself that all of the years I've invested in evolving to a stage of quiet maturity should not disappear because of one unhappy moment, or one stupid mistake.

At least I drive faster, now. It wasn't ever that you didn't like that I didn't drive fast. It was more that I wanted to subconsciously protect you. You were so fragile and weak when you came here; disturbingly perceptive, too, you were always too tuned into me for comfort. I know that if you were here now, then you would be able to tell I was upset - no matter how hard I pushed it to the back of my mind.

I can't stand the reflection of my headlights on the road, breaking the desolation of the desert after I've left the city heading through the Indian reservations. All though it is foolish, I stop the car here, in the middle of enemy territory. My head hits the steering wheel, and stays there.

Why did you have to be the one to screw up? I invested so much in you. So much time and inspiration, so many resources. You got dangerously close; but then again, the lines between teacher and student tended to be blurred with many of my students - you just pushed them further. You had the thirst - not just for survival, but for knowledge. You were promising.

Unfortunately, you were young. Far too young for the type of life I tried to create for you - force you into without your knowledge. Not even a decade… Perhaps it had been my mistake, bringing you into a world of timeless classics. You were the needle among the haystack. The one that went astray. And I wouldn't - couldn't repeat my mistakes.

I know it's pointless to forget you - but I push you out of my mind for now. I have to ignore the fact that I may be responsible for more than your life, and my mistakes for now. For now, I need to pretend that this didn't happen, and you didn't exist. This is alien to me, because you're the one thing that I really, truly regret, and at the same time, you're the one thing that I can connect to right now. You're someone I want to be near, and I can't ignore that closeness - I can't condone it either. The sound of my key in the ignition and the starting engine barely registers as I hit the gas, watching the ribbons of pavement fly by, and the sun rise over the mountains.

xXx

I stand in the lobby of the airport in Forks, shivering, wet, and alone. I have no luggage, and I have no ride. And I have no clue where I am going. There is no one waiting for me with a sign and a bouquet of flowers - not that I expected that anyways.

I begin to walk, rain soaking through my thin clothes quickly. I ignore the cold in a way only one who's grown up in it can, but my body still feels the effects, I watch Goosebumps crop up on my skin, and try to count them to pass the time as I walk.

There is no Side-of-the-road here. There is only a muddy strip of grass, before it all turns into dense forest. The grass, and mud squelches between the toes of my flip-flops, and I eye the forest with unease. This whole place sets me on edge. There's something not quite right about it all. It's almost too calm. I shudder, and turn my gaze to the stretch of road ahead of me - not entirely sure if I'm headed in the right direction or not. I'm supposed to have an excellent sense of direction - I don't. I've managed to get myself entirely turned around.

The bell above the door of a lone gas station rings. I wrinkle my nose, arms wrapping themselves instinctively around my waist, as I stumble through the doorway. I'm supposed to be graceful, too. I suppose there's some gene that you forgot to pass onto me, or something. You were always like that, forgetting things. It was my favorite part about you - watching your face when you tried to remember. I wince, slightly, thinking of how your face must look now. Not trying to remember - trying to forget me. 


End file.
